And try to dream.

Of being nineteen again and kissing a man with no name.

Chapter Twelve

THE RESTAURANT WAS packed as usual.

Friday night was the night every high-powered suit liked to be seen at the Weeping Willow. The eatery had opened four years ago, and in that time, it had created a name of fine dining, utmost decadence, and a gin bar with more selections than any other in New York. They prided themselves on expensive, exclusive liquors. And even had a bottle of gin valued at ten thousand dollars a shot.

Ridiculous.

“Ah, there you are!” Dad stood as I approached the reserved table at the back. The booth glittered in deep turquoise while a chandelier representing the branches of a willow tree wept over the circular table.

“Hi, Dad.” I kissed his cheek, happy to see he had color on his face and a twinkle in his eye. Even though the doctors had told him he had to take it easy, he didn’t. He still pulled long hours in his office across the hall from mine. And he stressed himself out by overthinking my future and lack of family if he suddenly died.

He was a lot of things my father but three words to describe him was a cuddly teddy bear. He had a habit of ignoring practicalities in order for happiness to rule.

“You look lovely.” He grabbed my hand, forcing me to spin.

The black dress whirled around my kneecaps while the spaghetti straps clung for dear life to my shoulders. The bodice hugged nicely, but overall, it was a simple style in a simple color.

It was one of Belle Elle’s biggest sellers—not because of how well it was made but because it was the perfect backdrop to show off accessories. Gauzy scarfs looked great with the spaghetti straps, necklaces earned prime real estate, and even big earrings polished it to runway class rather than high street clone.

Tonight, the only accessorizing I’d attempted was a dark blue shawl and a lick of eye shadow with thicker mascara. My blonde hair hung down to my tailbone. All my energy was spent on the company, not on myself, and I didn’t particularly care if it showed.

I swallowed a groan as Greg stood up and kissed both my cheeks. His hand landed on my elbow, slightly clammy and annoyingly clingy. “You look gorgeous, Noelle.”

I hate when he calls me that.

I hadn’t been Noelle for decades.

I was Elle of Belle Elle.

The queen of retail.

I forced a smile. “Thank you. You don’t look bad yourself.” I nodded in approval at his black slacks and one size too big for him dinner jacket. The lapels were embossed with velvet. On any other man, it would probably look distinguished and sexy. But on him...kill me now.

Not that he was ugly—far from it. Greg had great dark blond hair, chiseled features, and a trim physique. What lurked beneath his looks was what turned me off. There was no...connection. No spitfire or chocolate smoke. And sometimes, just sometimes, I sensed a darkness in him that had nothing to do with me constantly turning down his requests for a date.

He had a coldness that made me wary even to be alone with him in public.

Most of the time, I chalked up my over imagination to the slight trauma from being dragged into the alley all those years ago.

I had to stop reading into things and imagining the worst.

I looked around Greg to his father, Steve. “Hiya.”

Steve didn’t bother unwinding from the booth but blew me an air kiss. His hair had turned white over the years, but his sense of humor never dried up. “You look as pretty as that Barbie doll you used to love before Sage came along.”

I rolled my eyes. “Did you just call me a Barbie? In public?”

He shrugged. “Hey, it’s not derogatory. Just saying you have a tiny waist, nice boobs, and blonde hair.” He ran a hand over his casual gray blazer. “Look at me, I’m the perfect Ken—or at least, I was a few years ago.”

I laughed, forcing myself to relax even though Greg still hadn’t let go of my arm.

My father saved me by tugging me to his side and pushing me into the booth. I went willingly, trapped between Steve and Dad, facing Greg across the table.

Something rubbed my ankle.

My eyes shot to Greg’s green ones. Turned out, I wasn’t far enough away to prevent him playing footsies. I kept the same smile I used on assholes in the boardroom plastered to my face, even though I wanted to stab his face with the steak knife.

“So, Elle, you working hard tomorrow?” Greg grinned conspicuously as his foot stomped on my toes. “Want to go see a movie or something?”

The waiter brought our drinks—the joy of being known and regulars at this place. The server placed neat whiskey in front of my father and Steve, a gin and tonic for Greg, and a virgin daiquiri for me.

Just as I’d never been free since the night I met Nameless, I’d never been drunk. Not that liquor didn’t appeal to me but the fact that each day I started work before the sun rolled out of its soft cloudy bed, I had no time for a hangover.

One day, a few pieces of the laces keeping me straight and narrow would snap, and then I’d derail and cause untold pain to my father by being stupidly irresponsible. I would drink to excess, sleep with a stranger, and call in sick for a solid week.

But that day was not today.

“I work hard all the time, Greg.” I batted my eyelashes sweetly. “I’m afraid I never have time to do things like go to the movies.”

“What about a walk?”

“That too.”

“Carriage ride through Central Park?”

My smile faltered, remembering the arrest and subsequent disappearance of the man in Central Park. “Definitely too busy for that.”